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The on September 14, 2004: mega chain name from its Pacific Northwest department store locations. Actually, the 鈥淢arche鈥� part had been dumped a year earlier, when the stores became known, awkwardly, as Bon-Macy鈥檚 in 2003.

Either way, a retail name that had been familiar and trusted around here since 1890 was officially on its way out. Final ceremonies marking the switch to Macy鈥檚 would ultimately take place , though some locals still stubbornly call it 鈥淭he Bon.鈥�

A series of mergers and acquisitions of multiple regional department stores was to blame for the disappearance of the Bon Marche name. It was cheaper for Macy鈥檚 to name all the various department store chains it owned around the US the same thing, and then consolidate advertising, promotions and other activities that were previously regional matters.

And that should be the end of the story, right? That鈥檒l be the day-o.

The sound of Bon Marche

While the 鈥淏on Marche鈥� name disappeared a long time ago, an ad campaign created in Seattle in 1991 lives on in the hearts, minds, and earworms of hundreds of thousands of Northwest residents.

Brian Walter was the broadcast production coordinator at the Bon Marche back in the early 1990s. His job was to use TV and radio to get people to shop at the store, which had locations in Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and Utah. In particular, Walter needed help getting the word out about the annoyingly frequent event called the 鈥淥ne Day Sale.鈥�

鈥淭here was one freelancer, and his name is Palmer Pettersen,鈥� Walter said. 鈥淚 hired him and said, 鈥極kay, see if you can come up with a good idea [for] what to do with our 鈥極ne Day Sale.鈥欌��

Pettersen, who鈥檚 worked in advertising in Seattle since the 1970s, met with Walter about the project, and then went away to brainstorm some ideas. He鈥檚 not sure exactly why, but he remembered an old song that a former colleague (the late ) had often sung in the workplace, and how Friel would often change the lyrics to make a now-forgotten joke.

When Palmer Pettersen came back and showed Walter what he had in mind for the One Day Sale, Walter wasn鈥檛 sure what to think.

鈥淚 remember thinking this is either the most brilliant idea ever or it’s the stupidest idea ever, and I’m not quite sure which one it is,鈥� Walter said.

What was the brilliance that Petersen had unleashed that day in Brian Walter鈥檚 office at The Bon? To dust off the old version of the 鈥溾�� and its catchy 鈥淒ay-O!鈥� refrain.

Somehow, like so many brilliant inspirations that, in retrospect, seem unlikely, it all just fit.

鈥淚t was a combination of coming straight out of the name of the sale they wanted to promote, 鈥極ne Day only,鈥欌�� and putting that together with the musical memory of [Dick Friel鈥檚] comedy,鈥� Pettersen said. 鈥淭hat’s how it came together.鈥�

Pettersen鈥檚 presentation to Brian Walter included Pettersen himself singing the 鈥淥ne Day Sale鈥� version of the song lyrics he鈥檇 penned.

鈥淗e was singing horribly,鈥� Walter said. 鈥淚 mean, he is a super-creative guy, but no one is gonna hire him to sing.鈥�

But Brian Walter and The Bon Marche took a chance on Pettersen鈥檚 idea. One of the best decisions, Walter says, was recruiting noted local actor and performer to sing the song and do the voice overs for the commercial.

鈥淚t was an instant breakout hit,鈥� Walter said, and it had some serious staying power.

Walter says they kept evolving the various TV and radio commercials over the years, but that they remained true to the original concept for about a decade.

鈥淲e just kept on pounding it because everybody knew it,鈥� Walter said. 鈥淣ow, you would say, did everybody love it? No, not everybody loved it, but everybody knew it.

The loss of The Bon Marche name also meant shutting down all the local marketing and promotions efforts (including a series of radio ads with John Curley), and the drying up of all those local jobs and contracts. Like so much memorable Pacific Northwest advertising from the late 20^th century, the 鈥淒ay-O鈥� campaign was locally grown, Walter says. Well, except for one thing.

鈥淭he only thing that wasn’t local is that since we didn’t want legal to come after me and [for me to] lose my job, we had to negotiate the rights and actually pay the Harry Belafonte people who owned that arrangement of that song,鈥� Walter said. 鈥淲e had to pay them $25,000 a year for the rights to that.鈥�

鈥淚t was so, so worth it.鈥�

Walter says the 鈥淒ay-O鈥� campaign was a success, and it also reached far beyond the customers who they were trying to draw into the store.

鈥淭here was a whole generation of kids who went to elementary school [in the 1990s] and that’s where you learned the 鈥楤anana Boat Song,鈥欌�� Walter said. 鈥淭eachers for the first time ever were having to compete with the ubiquity and frequency of our commercials.鈥�

It had a unique effect. Walter says one teacher called and left him a voicemail message.

鈥淪he [said], 鈥榃e’re teaching the kids the 鈥楤anana Boat Song, so here are our first graders and we’re like, 鈥極kay kids, and it鈥檚, 鈥楥ome Mister Talisman, tally me bananas.鈥欌��

And then, the teacher continued, instead of singing the correct lyrics (鈥淒aylight come and me wanna go home), 鈥溾�檃ll the kids in unison chime, 鈥極ne day only at the Bon Marche.鈥欌��

Nowadays, some people even credit the popularity of Seattle Mariners鈥� player , in part, to the persistent memories of the 鈥淒ay-O鈥� campaign. A short recording of the Harry Belafonte refrain is played at Safeco Field whenever Lee is at bat.

A quarter-century after it was first created and more than a decade after it left the airwaves, the 鈥淒ay-O鈥� campaign remains something of a touchstone for each of the men who brought it into being.

鈥淚t’s the one thing that when you go to parties and say you’re in advertising, and someone asks, 鈥榃hat have I heard that you’ve done?鈥� 鈥� that was the one thing that really jumped out,鈥� said Pettersen, who still works as a freelancer in the advertising industry.

Brian Walter, who now runs a company called , believes the One Day Sale commercials may end up becoming what he鈥檚 most remembered for.

鈥淚f I’m gonna put something on my tombstone, that’s it,鈥� Walter said. 鈥溾�橝long with Palmer Pettersen, [Brian Walter] helped shepherd 鈥淒ay-O鈥� into the earworms of the Northwest.鈥欌��